


A Problem Shared

by WilmaKins



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Comfort/Angst, Feels, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 19:53:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15758565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilmaKins/pseuds/WilmaKins
Summary: After years of mutual pining, Steve and Tony finally share a kiss.Which should have made them both deliriously happy - but the human mind is a funny thing. Sometimes, its just 'one of those days'.And sometimes, its 'one of those days' for more than just one of you.Discusses some mental health related issues, such as feelings of depression and anxiety. If you'd like more detail, please let me know.





	A Problem Shared

**Author's Note:**

> I had such a wonderful experience with my first fic, I thought I might try posting something a bit different. Slightly different characterisation of both characters, just for the sake of exploring something else really. I'm still overwhelmingly grateful to anyone that takes the time to read and feedback, it really has made such a difference.

Tony knew before he woke up.

 

Maybe it was the dreams he could never remember. The onslaught of water, the taste of battery acid, the endless expanse of night sky…something, to spark this cold, bottomless dread. Maybe it was something else. Something he promised to do, something that was about to go wrong…

 

It always felt this way. It was never anything. He tried to tell himself that.

 

It was like being underwater. Everything from the moment he opened his eyes felt heavier, and colder, and more distant. He knew he should get up. Lying here and wallowing in it never helped…but, what was the point? Nothing helped on days like these. He had no idea what better looked like.

 

And then it was too late. He was lying there, wallowing in it. He felt the empty bed he was lying in. He tried not to think about who was ‘meant’ to be there. Because if he thought about Steve-

 

Shit, too late.

 

Oh, he’d been _happy_ about Steve when he went to bed last night. He’d actually gone to sleep gleefully reliving a goodnight kiss. How had _that_ led to nightmares? Well, now, it seemed only too obvious how that had led to nightmares. Surely it was only a matter of time before he fucked it up. Thinking about it, it was likely he already had. There was almost certainly something he’d done, something he’d been too insensitive to even realise… And this was why he hadn’t wanted to think about Steve, right now. Anything he thought about right now would turn to shit. Like everything he ever touched…

 

He sighed. He should get up. Fuck knows what for, but he should. He hated lying here anyway.

 

It was raining. Of course it was. The sky outside was soaked in it, slate grey and heavy, which made it hard to judge the time. Tony wasn’t sure why, but he didn’t want to check. He just pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and headed to his lab. Didn’t matter what time it was, if he was going to his lab. Wouldn’t bump into anyone, in his lab.

 

He didn’t know whether he wanted to bump into Steve, or not.

 

He knew, if he did, it would be awful. He knew that he would come off as defensive, or cold, and poor Steve wouldn’t know that he’d done nothing to deserve it. Today might be the inevitable day Tony blew it completely, so really, he should hope to avoid Steve. But there was always a little part of him that wanted to run and find Steve. That had always been the case, even before last week…

 

Oh, last Friday…

 

Tony made it to his lab, and immediately turned on every light. The darkness wasn’t helping his mood. He still had no idea if he was standing in the pre-dawn gloom or under a particularly dark afternoon sky.

 

Nervously, he checked his memory for anything he had to do today, anything his AI might have failed to remind him of. No matter how many times he thought it through, he couldn’t quite convince himself. There must be something he’d forgotten, something he’d set this ‘free time’ aside for.

_No, you know you’re free today – you went to bed last night thinking, at last, a free day tomorrow_.

 

But Tony didn’t believe it. Even though he knew it. And, even if there had been no specific commitment, surely, there must be something he _should_ be doing. Something he’d been promising to get around to. Something.

 

He cast an unfocused glance over his desk, at the scribbled notes and half drawn blueprints, things he _could_ be working on today. But he already knew he wouldn’t. Looking at his plans was like looking at a box of childhood toys. He could remember being enthused by all this. He didn’t deny he’d felt a connection to it, once. But it wasn’t there now. It felt a bit ridiculous, now, distant and unreal. He wasn’t going to work on any of this today, any more than he would have started playing with his old action figures. He couldn’t make himself pretend.

 

Instead, he leant back in his chair and thought of Steve. He knew it was a bad idea. An unhealthy, potentially painful thing, and still he wanted to do it more than anything. Like picking at a wound. He’d been doing this to himself for years. After every argument, every screw up, every meaningful look or kind gesture – and back then, he didn’t even think Steve liked him.

 

_You don’t think he likes you now_

 

Tony physically flinched from the thought. He tried to tell himself that wasn’t true. Last Friday, Steve had kissed _him_. Steve had told Tony he liked him, he’d said the actual, literal words. Steve _had_ been happy when Tony said it back. Tony had seen it, he’d thought it and he’d _known_ it, at the time. And Tony had been so happy, he knew he had, he _remembered_ it –

 

Why didn’t it feel like that now? Why didn’t the whole thing _look_ like that, now?

 

_Yeah, he kissed you, because he thought you’d taken a direct hit and he was so relieved to see you. That doesn’t mean he really likes you, not like you like him. Just because he said it, doesn’t mean he meant it, not like you think. He doesn’t love you, he wouldn’t have looked that pleased if you’d told him you loved him. He’d be scared to death and back off, and you did know that at the time, even without the bad mood, because otherwise you would have said it, wouldn’t you? And since then you’ve barely seen him. Three kisses and an hour chatting, in nine days. He’s avoiding you, or he’s just not that interested – however hectic things have been, that isn’t the start of an enthusiastic relationship. You’re getting carried away with yourself again, letting a brief flirtation turn into this massive thing in your head, and then you’ll ruin the flirtation, which was as good as it was ever going to get for you-_

Tony made himself sigh. It was one of the little coping techniques he’d been trying since boarding school. Sometimes, if you sigh in that exact way you would when you’re relieved, you can trick yourself into feeling it. At the very least, it acted as a full stop on his spiralling thoughts. He knew he had to try to get a handle on this. He tried to step back, tried to put his escalating mood into perspective.

 

Tony had spent years dreaming about what it might be like if Steve liked him, and then it had really happened, and still it hadn’t made him happy. Well, no, that wasn’t right – it was just that, today, he didn’t believe it. He couldn’t see how it could be true that Steve liked him. So, he _tried_ to be rational.

 

_Steve kissed you_ **.**

_Steve told you he liked you. He said it when he kissed you, he said he would have died if anything had happened to you, and you know he meant that. _

_And the reason you’ve barely seen him since is that neither of you have had a moment. You’ve spent eight days clearing up the aftermath of that attack, and so has he – he could ask why **you** haven’t seen more of him, and it isn’t because you don’t like him, now is it?_

_And, yeah, you were the one who pulled him aside and told him you had to talk – but he was happy to do it. And he told you he liked you, again, without the near-death experience. He told you he wanted it to happen again, he kissed you again, what more do you want?_

 

He wanted Steve to love him. His heart ached under the weight of it, all of a sudden, and he didn’t know why.

 

He’d never thought, in his wildest dreams, that Steve Rogers would ever like him. Tony had been quietly pining for two years, imagining thousands of scenarios in which, hypothetically, Steve might be hypnotised, compelled, mind-controlled into kissing him. And then it had happened, entirely of Steve’s own free will, and Tony had gone weak at the knees.

 

He still did, thinking of the kiss itself. Even this bad mood hadn’t ruined that. If he thought of that moment in isolation… Steve storming into the tower, clearly shaken underneath his determined exterior, thinking he’d just watched Tony get shot out of the sky. The way he changed when he saw Tony standing there, the way his body just collapsed under the sheer relief of it. Tony had assumed Steve was annoyed at him. He couldn’t think of a reason, but what else could Steve possibly feel that intently for him? And then, just as Tony was deciding between being defensive and blindly apologetic, Steve had just pulled Tony into his chest and kissed him. And if Tony just thought of that kiss, the way Steve’s arms closed around him, they way Steve’s lips melted against his…

 

It was just everything else.

 

Tony had been excited and optimistic since last Friday. The attack had destroyed a lot of property, but for once, no one had been hurt. Tony had cheerfully written cheques for twice what the farmers had lost, and just like that, there had been no harm done. No reason not to be overwhelmingly happy with his whole life. He’d been working fourteen-hour days, bent over a work desk or walking across miles of scorched farmland to see the damage for himself – he’d smiled the whole time. Because, at the time, he’d just kissed Steve Rogers. The object of his fantasies, the love of his life, this thing he’d always known he could never have. At the time, he’d been at the beginning of a love affair, shocked to learn that he might be worthy of Steve Roger’s affections.

 

Why didn’t it feel like that now?

 

Why did the same three kisses and the same wonderful conversation now look entirely different to him? But now it was just so obviously that he was needy and desperate, on the verge of freaking Steve out, if he hadn’t already. It was so clear that it had been three casual kisses, a quick chat in which Steve agreed to maybe give it a go – and Tony walking around all week, grinning like an idiot.

 

Well. Now he felt embarrassed.

 

And, now, it was even more obvious that he should avoid Steve at all costs. Even if, now, Tony wanted to see him more than ever… but he couldn’t. He’d ruin whatever it actually was, and whatever that was, it was still better than anything he’d ever dared hope for.

 

“FRIDAY, is Steve Rogers in the building? Is he awake?”

 

Because, he told himself, this was _instead_ of sabotaging himself. He _wasn’t_ going to go and find Steve, he just wanted to know where he was. So he _didn’t_ have to go and find him.

 

“Captain Rogers left the tower forty minutes ago, boss.”

 

And Tony looked again at the miserable, rain-soaked sky. Steve had gone out in this? Why?

 

“What time is it?”

“Six forty am, boss”

 

Morning run, maybe. Tony would’ve skipped it in this weather, but maybe not Steve… A sudden wind threw a sheet of rain against the window of Tony’s lab, an angry, fizzing noise, and Tony winced. He _hoped_ Steve hadn’t decided to go for a run… maybe…

 

“Do we know what he went out for?”

“No, boss”

 

Maybe Tony should hope Steve _was_ out for a run. Choosing to brave this weather, however mad, was better than having to go out in it…

 

_What if he had to go out? What if he’s in trouble? Why wouldn’t he tell you? Oh, wait, maybe because you aren’t actually his soul mate all of a sudden, and maybe three kisses doesn’t mean he trusts you… Maybe he’s out there right now, facing something awful, something he might not have bothered to tell you about, because why would he-_

 

Oh, no, no, no. He couldn’t get himself into that.

 

“Can you let me know when he gets back?”

“Sure thing, boss.”

 

And Tony looked back at his work desk, and wondered what he was doing there. What on earth he was going to do with himself until Steve got back…. What the hell he was supposed to do afterwards.

 

He thought of walking to the kitchen. If it was as early as that, it was unlikely the others would be there – especially after the week they’d all just had. Anyone but him would have been taking advantage of the lie in

_Everyone but you and Steve…_

Ignoring that. The point was, suddenly, his lab seemed like a bad idea. The kitchen didn’t seem like such a bad option, now. And if that made it more likely he would see Steve when he got back-

 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He was going to the kitchen anyway.

 

*

 

Steve hadn’t been to bed yet.

 

It was frustrating. He _had_ been counting the minutes down until he could finally go to bed. The last eight days had been exhausting, physically and mentally, and what little rest he’d managed had never been quite enough. And it always had to be earmarked for actual sleep. Steve had longed to just lie down, to appreciate that he was resting before it was snatched away by a blearing alarm or a radio call. To think, for a minute.

 

So much had happened last Friday.

 

He had watched Tony get blown to pieces, for a start. The fact that Tony wasn’t actually in that suit, and the fact that other things had happened afterwards, didn’t make that moment any less harrowing. He struggled to remember it, the horror was so incomprehensible. It hadn’t felt real, because it _couldn’t_ be real – and then, to find out it _wasn’t_ real, before he’d worked out that it had been… It was the only explanation Steve could think of for what he did afterwards. That hadn’t felt real, either. When he thought back, it was like watching someone else do it. He meant to hug him.

 

He kissed Tony Stark.

 

And Tony kissed him back. He’d actually pressed his hands against Steve’s back and _kissed_ him. And, even now, Steve had no idea what he thought was happening then, how he even knew what to do. It felt so natural in the moment, because there was nothing to stop it. It only stopped feeling natural when it started feeling extra-ordinary, when it finally occurred to Steve that something monumental was happening.

 

He remembered babbling something, how he would have died if anything had happened to Tony and he didn’t care what the explanation was – even then, it had been like listening to someone else talking. And Tony just looked up at him with wide eyed wonder, and Steve almost got lost in it, and then there was a sudden, jarring voice in his ear. Commands he barely heard, about a catastrophe he’d forgotten was even happening. The real world came back into focus in a horrible rush. And Tony had to go, and then Tony wasn’t there. Just Steve, trying to comprehend the last ten minutes.

 

_Tony is dead_

_Tony can’t be dead_

_Tony isn’t dead_

_How is Tony not dead?_

_I am kissing Tony Stark_

_I just kissed Tony Stark_

_Tony Stark kissed me back_

 

And Steve just standing there, his lips still sensitive and his heart still beating in his ears, trying to work out how to feel.

 

It had been like that for the last eight days. It had always been there, just out of focus, the thing he really wanted to be thinking about. But there had never been time, he could never spare the attention. He had been constantly tempted to remember, to daydream, to indulge in endless possibilities. The effort to focus had been exhausting, but he’d done it, because he was Captain America and he did his duty.

 

And now, at last, the worst was over. The wreckage had been collected and catalogued, the civilians had been compensated, every agency and organisation with an opinion had been appeased. Steve had reached the blessed day off. The plan, for eight _long_ days, had been to collapse on his bed and let himself think. He was going to think about that first kiss, and all the others. He was going to think about everything Tony had said, and everything he’d said back. But, more than all of that, he had been planning to think about how very happy he was. Because he knew he _was_ happy. He’d known that all week. He’d been looking forward to really considering everything that had happened, what it meant, what his life looked like now. And then, before he even started…

 

This feeling.

 

He’d had this feeling all his life. This specific, restless anxiety always came out of nowhere, sometimes on perfectly ordinary days. Once, Peggy had referred to ‘that feeling, like you’re walking over a bridge with no knickers on’, and Steve had laughed until there was no sound. He didn’t even know if Peggy was talking about the same thing, but he knew a feeling it would have been a perfect description of – shame he couldn’t use it. That strange feeling, like you’re being watched. That hyper-awareness of your own skin. And then, after that, that flighty feeling that stopped you concentrating on anything for too long.

 

Surely, if he was really worried about something, it would consume his thoughts? He wouldn’t keep getting distracted from all these little problems with thoughts of other problems, if they really were problems…

 

When Steve felt like this, anything could be a problem. When Steve felt like this, it was like there were problems lurking in every corner, hiding in every element of his life – but he couldn’t quite look at them. Not directly. He tried to think himself out of his anxiety, but he could never quite pin it down. On days like this, it was like nothing was quite real, everything was slightly precarious –

 

Even Tony.

 

He’d been so happy when he said goodnight to Tony the night before. He’d known, he’d _felt_ that they were so close. Tony could finally go to sleep, and after one more debrief and one final report, so could Steve. He’d even had the chance to kiss Tony goodnight, soft and slow and sweet, and it had left him feeling giddy and lightheaded. Just one more report and one more debrief, and it could always be like this. And then he’d finished his report, and his debrief… and there had been no rush of elation, no relief. He’d waited for it, and nothing. Just the slightly ominous feeling that the feeling hadn’t been there…. And then, he knew.  

 

He had laid on his bed, for a bit. He didn’t bother getting in it. He _tried_ to think. He wondered if he was worried about Tony, he tried to think why he might be so he could convince himself that he wasn’t. But still. Days like today, Steve was just worried, and it bled into anything he tried to think about. When he was a kid, these were the days that he was sure his mother would die of a horrible illness, the depression would never end and they would starve to death. When he was in the army, these were the days that they were going to lose the war. And today, for some reason, one of the best things that had ever happened to him was a crisis in waiting.

 

What was he expecting to happen, tomorrow? The day after? What _did_ he want his life to look like, anyway? And he was sure there were answers to those questions, he didn’t even know why he was scared of them – because he just could not get around to answering them. There were just more questions, until his head was full of them, until his whole life tasted of doubt.

 

So, just before six that morning, he had given up and decided to go for a run. That helped, sometimes. Focussing on his body instead of his mind. Getting some air.

 

He didn’t think about the weather. He didn’t even notice it, at first. For a few minutes he could focus on his legs and his heartbeat to the exclusion of all else. The icy wind, the relentless questions, everything fell quiet for a few miles. But then the running became automatic, his body adjusted to the stress and it faded out of focus. After a while there was room for the doubt again.

 

It was still better. Running gave him something to do with the excess energy, or some of it. It was always difficult to sit still on days like today, and running was better than pacing or fidgeting or trying not to do either. But it didn’t solve the problem. After a while the questions came back, louder and clearer until he could forget that he was running at all.

 

_Should he be spending the day with Tony? Doing what?_

_How could he do anything else, now that he finally had a chance?_

_Unless Tony had other plans – was this presumptuous?_

_Or was it insensitive and ridiculous to think of doing anything else?_

_Tony said he liked him – Tony had said he liked him, hadn’t he?_

_Had he told Tony-_

_He hadn’t said he loved him_

_Should he say he loved him?_

_After a week?_

_Except it wasn’t a week, really, it was over two years-_

 

He did love Tony. At least he’d well and truly worked that one out. But he’d never thought about how that could fit into the real world – why on earth would he? He didn’t even think Tony was interested in men, much less him. There was a human instinct to make even a farfetched fantasy as feasible as possible, and it stopped him from putting too many details in. He’d never thought about going on a date with Tony, or making a joint decision about a house they shared, or whether he’d say boyfriend or partner. It just wouldn’t have occurred to him. He spent his daydreams thinking about the little things he loved about Tony, the things Tony had said or done… and sometimes, he dared to think about isolated moments. Sometimes he thought about kissing Tony, undressing him, telling him he loved him… but he never thought how he got there. He never thought about this bit.

 

_Do you want to be Tony’s boyfriend?_

_Do you want to go on dates with Tony?_

_Do you want to share a house with him?_

He was sure none of these would be scary questions if only he could fucking answer them. If only he could stop thinking and think.

 

_You have no idea what you’re doing_

 

Steve felt his skin crawl. That one might actually be scary, if he thought about it. Or embarrassing. Uncomfortable certainly. He wasn’t sure.

 

He hated not being sure.

 

Steve was _supposed_ to be sure. That was kind of his thing. He was supposed to confident of the right answer, to be able to do it unwaveringly. He was the leader, and no one follows a ‘probably’ into battle. And he knew he wasn’t in battle right now, he knew it wasn’t the same. But what else was there? ‘What would Captain America Do?’ didn’t help right now. Captain America didn’t have a sex life. Captain America didn’t _want_ like this, he would never have had to worry whether he was the instigator…

 

_Does Tony like me?_

 

Didn’t sound like the sort of thing Captain America would have worried about. Being sexually inexperienced was certainly not the sort of thing Captain America worried about…

 

And then, suddenly, it hit him.

 

He was _exhausted_.

 

Suddenly, here… _miles_ away from the tower, he was exhausted. Why now, out of nowhere? But now it was, out of nowhere, and Captain America stumbled to an undignified stop. And Captain America’s legs hurt, and his lungs… Captain America was trembling, hands on his knees, shuddering as he tried to _breathe._

 

It was fine. He was just tired….

 

God, he was _miles_ away.

 

And then the weather occurred to him. Hard. It was dark, and it was raining… and he was _cold._ Steve hated the cold. Steve was miles away from home, lost and tired and _cold_ , and he had no one to blame but himself. There was a spike of fear, primal, irrational fear.

 

He was cold. He hated the cold.

 

Okay, he had to stay calm, because he was Captain America. Captain America stayed calm in an alien invasion. If Captain America was thrown by a cold morning run in New York…. No, Captain America was fine. Captain America might have been cold, and maybe even lost, be he was in New York, and he was fine…

 

If he just stayed calm, if he just put one foot in front of the other, he would make it home.

 

*

 

It was quarter to eight by the time Steve made it back to the tower.

 

By then Tony’s mood had worn in, if not worn off. He’d been sitting at the kitchen table for half an hour, feeling like he should still be pacing but he just didn’t have the will for it. He kept looking up at the doorway for Steve, like a puppy tied up outside a shop. He felt a little bit dirty every time he did it. Maybe he didn’t like how needy he was being. Maybe he was uneasy about getting his hopes up – although, he wasn’t sure that was what he was doing. He didn’t know _what_ he was hoping for.

 

“Captain Rogers just got back to the tower, boss”

 

Tony felt his chest tense. He thought, again, of all the reasons he should avoid Steve. How important it was to hide this ugly side of himself, how badly he could screw it up if he stayed. But he wanted to see Steve. He just wanted to. He knew that the kitchen would be the first place Steve went – that’s why he’d come down here in the first place. He didn’t appear to be moving.

 

And then Steve walked into the kitchen, and suddenly Tony felt very different.

 

Because Steve looked _awful._

 

His skin was too pale, enough that Tony could see the shadows under his eyes from across the room – was he shivering?

 

Steve paused when he saw Tony.

_Is this the thing you’re anxious of?_

_Are you worried about seeing him-_

_No._

Steve was pleased to see Tony. Especially in that washed out, unsteady moment. He was so familiar, he felt safe, and Steve was just happy he was there. That was an answer. That was something.

 

“Hey.”

“Are you alright?” Tony’s voice was heavy with concern. He stood up slowly, not wanting to crowd Steve. But it wasn’t because he was over thinking the relationship, or worried about looking needy, or whatever bullshit he’d been obsessing over a few moments ago. Now he was just thinking about whether Steve was okay, how to make it better. That mattered, that was real, Tony felt a connection to that. That was something.

 

“Yeah, just tired.” Steve answered with as much of a smile as he could manage. It had been an effort to say the words, he was so exhausted. And then he saw Tony’s eyes soften sympathetically, and there was something so lovely about it, so …compelling. Like Steve wanted to reach out and grab whatever feeling he’d seen wash over Tony’s face.

 

Steve had been so fundamentally, terrifyingly alone for so long. When he’d woken up in the 21st century, he’s started at zero, with no friends, no enemies, nothing to separate one person from the next. There was no one he shared anything with, no one he owed anything to, no one who thought anything of him. And then there had been Tony. Tony always seemed a little bit separate from everyone else, from the moment Steve met him.  Over the course of weeks and months and years, he and Tony had built something. Something they shared, something special that Steve finally had of his own. And now Tony was here, looking at _him_ – not Captain America, not the myth of Steve Rogers, just him – with such genuine feeling that it made Steve’s chest ache. He felt human in a way he hadn’t for years.

 

Tony put his hand on Steve’s arm, and inhaled sharply. Steve’s skin was like glass. He felt the way Steve lent into his touch, and then Tony was putting his arms around him. It was instinctive, and immediate – Steve was just so _cold_. Tony felt achingly sorry for him.

 

A few minutes earlier, Tony didn’t know how he’d get around to feeling much of anything again. Even though it always happened the same way – eventually, he just would. He never knew which way around it was. Whether, after a while, there would just be something funny enough to make him laugh, or unjust enough to make him angry, or important enough to make him care. Or if, after a while, he would just be in the right mood to laugh and rant and work again.

 

But Steve was cold, and clearly miserable, and Tony _cared._ And that was all he cared about, for now.

 

“Come.” He said, simply, tugging on Steve’s hand. And, for once, Steve let someone else lead.

 

*

 

Tony had decided to take them both back to Steve’s room rather than his. His only concern was what would make Steve most comfortable, and having Steve there in front of things made everything much clearer. He knew not to leave Steve alone right now. And maybe later he could rethink everything and wind himself up and wonder if he’d over stayed his welcome or overstepped his boundaries – but in the moment, it was obvious.

 

Tony handed Steve some clean clothes and told him to get in the shower. He didn’t even think of complicating things by asking to join him. Maybe one day. Right now, all that mattered was making Steve warm. Then he slipped his shoes off and sat on top of Steve’s bed, which he could tell hadn’t been slept in. He wondered what had kept Steve up all night when he was clearly so tired, what had driven him to go out in this weather at this time of the day. He wondered whether he should ask. But then he thought of Steve’s heavy eyes and heavy shoulders. Not today. Not everything had to be today.

 

And then Steve appeared, looking soft and clean and far more human, and Tony felt a swell of honest joy. When something was wonderful enough, when he was ready to feel it, there it was. He felt such affection for Steve in that moment, it couldn’t be anything but good.

 

Tony shuffled aside and Steve took his place next to him. Tony let himself be pulled against Steve’s chest, melting into him as Steve put his arm around his shoulder. He could hear Steve’s heart beating.

 

And Steve breathed Tony in, and he realised that this was absolutely what he wanted. He might not know what else he wanted, and he might not know what was going to happen next, but that didn’t seem so important any more.

 

“‘S’alright that I’m falling asleep?” Steve murmured, his eyes already closed.

“Of course,” He could hear Tony smiling. And Tony thought how nice it would be if Steve fell asleep, here in his arms. It might not solve everything. It might not be proof that everything was going to be okay. But Steve was here, his face so pretty now that it was perfectly still, his body so strong and solid, and Tony loved him. This moment was just nice.

 

And, for now, that was enough.  


End file.
